Mr Jasper's Misunderstanding
by whatcatydidnext
Summary: Mr Jasper is a gentleman of the first quarter. Mr Jasper needs a wife, Rose needs a husband. Mr Jasper does the right thing...
1. Chapter 1

Mr. Jasper's Misunderstanding.

It was raining.

Rose had hoped, as it was the middle of August _and_ her wedding day, that they may be afforded some small respite from the continual drizzle. They were not. In her future home of Grineby, rain appeared to be the customary condition.

With resignation she turned her attention to her toilette. Nothing elaborate, a simple dress and matching bonnet. The world thought her a young widow with a child, and she allowed them that illusion. Henry's family had informed her of his death while serving under Wellington at Badajoz. Subsequently, her lover's haughty family discreetly disavowed the engagement. It was unfortunate that his daughter was born within a sixth month of his passing.

They wanted none of her or her child.

And she wanted none of them.

Society, always less forgiving of a woman's errors than a man's, required an explanation for her child, so the subterfuge began. Maintaining the false widowhood proved difficult. Orphaned as a child, Rose had been ward to her uncle Walter. Now with a child of her own and no fortune, she was an encumbrance, her position untenable. Uncle Walter had made it very clear.

A husband _must_ be found.

The 'man of the world' who could over look her unfortunate past, provide her and her child with a secure future, presented himself in the form of Mr. Theobald Jasper. While Mr. Jasper was gentleman of independent means and good connections, her uncle offered the pithy conjecture that he was also 'obviously not too fussy.'

Rose swallowed her pride and at their one and only encounter tried to smile pleasingly.

He had behaved with a grave politeness.

Not a promising beginning.

Collecting her plain summer gloves, Rose thought how much she would have liked her child to be present at the church, but, as in all things, her uncle overruled her. Harriet should remain in her new home with her new nurse.

Rose knew it would have been unseemly to make a fuss; this was a marriage of expediency. Mr. Jasper was a man of advanced years, a full forty summers, and a widower of long standing. He would not be a man to endure the capricious, sentimental nonsense of an imprudent young woman.

But still she missed her child's impish smile.

So, in her new half mourning dress of dove grey silk, with matching bonnet, she would go to Grineby parish church and marry Mr. Jasper.

###

Theobald Jasper ordered his cravat, his valet sniffed and re-ordered it.

"It must flounce, sir, _flounce_, not flop."

Jasper raised an eyebrow and whispered an oath. "Damnit man, it is not St James's." He accepted the freshly configured necktie with little grace. **"**'Tis a country church, milkmaids and the odious relatives the only guests. Mr. Brummell is hardly like to spring forth from the woodwork to critique the line of me linen!" He drew out his cuffs and shook them so they fell elegantly against the sombre black of his coat.

In truth he wanted this to be over. He was a man of moderate habits, disdaining overindulgence. It appeared to him that weddings were universally overindulgent.

To keep the tittle-tattles at bay, these nuptials would be as judiciously inconspicuous as it was practical to be. But he was still wary.

His first marriage had been a disappointment. Matilda's family had insisted the on the very epitome a modish society wedding. The guest list had been extensive, composed of names mostly unfamiliar to him, predominantly his betrothed's relations. At the time he had speculated if it was entirely normal to have _quite_ so many cousins. A shudder took him at the thought of his wife's family and their habits.

She had been a sweet enough girl, but what he had seen as charming innocence in their courtship, he soon found was in fact the blandness of a leaden mind. Conversation was dull, everything about her was dull. She lacked the spark of intellect or imagination.

Fortunately the unusual diversity of his enterprises took him away a great deal. Evading his wife became a simple matter.

He was a brute and he knew it, but he never let her become aware of his true feelings. It would have been crass to do so. When she perished of the Scarlet Fever after three years of connubial tedium, he was secretly relieved. Allowing society to believe he mourned so deeply that he would never marry again, kept the predatory mamas at bay.

It was a condition he had savoured.

Regrettably now he needed a wife. His elder brother had most inconsiderately died having neglected to supply the requisite 'heir and spare'. It fell to Theobald to take on the onerous obligations of securing the Jasper line.

The chit he was to marry was personable enough. Young, with a child already, giving him a reasonable expectation of offspring. And he daresay doing his duty would not cause him too much distress.

But lordy, women could be a trial.

###

Her wedding day almost over, Rose lay staring at the canopy above the bridal bed. Embroidered cupids hugged each other, their pink baby faces insipid, wide eyed in pretence of innocence.

Was that what Mr. Jasper thought of her? Did he notice her blushes, how she looked away when Uncle Walter made lewd remarks at the wedding supper? Of course he knew she was not chaste, her child attested to that, but did he think her worldly wise? Would he know the blush real; that her downward glance hid genuine mortification?

Did her new husband expect a woman familiar with the physical desires of men?

Oh, dear God, she hoped not!

The single candle at her bedside flickered, caught by a sudden draft.

The door had opened.

Theobald Jasper coughed discreetly to determine if his bride was awake. The rustle of bed linen, and softly hesitant exhalation told him she was.

Rose lay uneasily inspecting the cupids.

"Good, you are awake...Good, good..." He paced, his long form casting an even longer shadow. "Forgive me, madam, but I would speak with you before we…er…" He coughed again, sought out words appropriate to the situation. "Before we consummate our…arrangement." He stilled at last, ramrod straight, hands held behind his back.

Rose carefully eased herself up.

"Hmm, better, better." He sniffed. "I have no wish to converse with a bed sheet."

Rose bit her lip. Mr. Jasper addressed her as if she were a naughty school boy. She felt a giggle rise in her. He was wearing his nightshirt, and probably little else. His manner seemed faintly…absurd.

"I think we should discuss expectations, yours, and of course my own. Obviously you are aware of what is about to take place." He sat abruptly on the side of the bed, his tone slightly less stern. "I mean no disrespect when I say that you being possessed of some experience in bedroom…being no weeping virgin, is a matter of great relief to me."

Rose closed her eyes and whispered, "It was once sir. I…succumbed only once."

"What?" He looked at her incredulous. "You have a child from being tupped but once?"

"George was…_It_ _was_…a thing of sudden passion."

"He forced himself on you?"

"He _persuaded_ me, sir." She must seem such a ninny.

"So…you have little knowledge of the act?"

"Very little." She felt herself flush, and mumbled, "Over and above the discomfort."

Mr. Jasper vigorously rubbed the bridge of his nose and frowned. "This is a dilemma." He looked about him, as if the answer to his difficulties could be found written on the furniture. Then, straightening his shoulders, he took on a look of cheerful forbearance. "Then it seems I must be your tutor. Not a situation I would have sought." He turned, studied her in the candlelight. "But not one I will protest, I think."

Leaning forward he ran a long, and surprisingly calloused, finger down her cheek. On reaching her chin, he tilted it, making her look up at him.

"Do I displease you, madam?"

She regarded him, assessing fully. After a pause she looked demurely away. "No sir, your face…and form are…most acceptable."

Theobald Jasper had not expected so direct an answer, but it pleased him. "I am not overly fond of shy retiring women. I require a partner whose sensual sensibilities equal my own." He drew closer. "I trust I may kiss you in the appropriate manner?"

"I would expect no less, sir." She was almost indignant.

Smiling, he nudged her nose with his, touched his lips to hers.

And Mr. Jasper kissed his bride.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr Jasper's Arrangements

(Just a wee heads up, for those unfamiliar with the term '_enceinte' _was used as a delicate euphemism for pregnant.)

Mr. Jasper's Arrangements

Grineby Hall had been the home of the Jasper family for over two hundred years. Their particular dynastic tree had sprung from lowly, but resourceful roots, The family motto was 'Qui ministrat regi, proficuis', or 'Who ministers to the king, profits', described the Jasper sense of simple pragmatism to perfection. While others sought titles and high office, the Jasper family gained quiet wealth and influence.

Theobald was no exception to the family rule; his business was the Crown's business. That enterprise took on many guises, but mainly the importation of goods necessary to the comfort and security of the monarch, and thus the realm. Those goods could be actual, or on occasion were of an intellectual nature. In short, he was a legally sanctioned smuggler and spy. And these being difficult times, business was good.

This morning however, Theobald was less concerned with business than with the lamentable state of the family seat. His late brother Augustus had failed the family name in more than his inability to produce an heir.

Augustus had not been of the usual Jasper cast. Where Theobald was tall, lithe of body and mind, Gussie had been short and stout, and a man more at home with the huntin', shootin', and fishin' set than the cut and thrust of the family's business. Indeed, he was more than happy to leave it all in the hands of his younger brother.

All Gussie had to do was manage the Grineby estate. And at that, he had most indisputably failed.

Theobald had rarely visited Grineby. The London house in Carleton Square was much more to his liking; it was more modern, and convenient for business. Grineby was never really on his horizon. And it would seem not to have troubled his brother too much either. Plasterwork was peeling; damp showed through delicate friezes; the grand Palladian frontage was green with moss and lichen.

The furniture was much as he remembered it as a child, heavy Jacobean, dark and uncomfortable. Lud, but he would swear the arse print of every Jasper since his great great great grandfather's time was still visible on the chairs. _And this was what he was offering the new Mrs. Jasper?_ E'gad, but he was justly embarrassed by the place!

It had been his plan to leave the new Mrs. J happily _enceinte_ and ensconced with her daughter in Grineby. Thus, his duty being most soundly done, he could resume attending to the King's business. There only need be the occasional foray north, perhaps a Christmas or two at Carleton Square for the missus and the children, and all would be as it should.

But there were two flies in this particular jar of ointment.

Firstly the dreadful state of the house. He could not, in all good conscience, leave his adorable creature and her child, and possibly _his _child, in the damp, ruined pile he had inherited.

Secondly was the fact that he thought of his new wife as _'an adorable creature', _after only one night. How this had occurred he was at a loss. While his life had not been that of a libertine, and he was no less a monk. To be_ so_ enamoured,_ so_ quickly, left him bollixed to understand.

The previous night, while engaged in an exhilarating and quite precise erotic manoeuvre, the bed collapsed.

Actually collapsed mid coitus!

A creaking whine, followed juddering snaps, and The Great Bed of Grineby dipped alarmingly to one side, flinging the dear girl to the floor. Undeterred, his delightful Rose bit her lip and, wriggling invitingly backwards onto the rug, enquired after his wellbeing. Once their lovemaking resumed, she glanced at the vast sinking ship of a bed and commented that she disliked being watched by cherubs anyway.

No, there was nothing for it; the house must be restored to its former glory. And Augustus be damned for the lazy fool he was!

###

On entering the dining room intent upon a hearty and well earned breakfast, Theobald was surprised to see his bride seated at the long, elephantine table. Before her was a plate of yellow goo.

"Good morning, my dear, I trust you slept well and are rested?" There was a certain irony intended; he could not resist it. Rose coughed politely and stirred somewhat cautiously in her chair. "Fairly well, sir." She turned the unfamiliar goo with her fork.

Theobald took his seat at the head of the table and was presented by the butler, Barnstable, with a freshly ironed copy of the Times and a neatly folded and imposingly sealed letter on a silver salver. "Ye gods, but what can they want of me now?" he muttered forcing the wax open with the butter knife.

Rose looked up. Truthfully she had no idea what her husband actually did. Uncle Walter had been vague. That Mr. Jasper was a man of trade was all she knew.

Once again she found herself squirming uncomfortably. The exertions of the previous night had left their mark, well, marks really. Mr. J had been a revelation; his athleticism and selflessness were both startling.

For the hundredth time since their first union, Rose counted her blessings.

Theobald's brow drew down. The letter could not go unanswered. There was a situation fermenting that only he could remedy. _Dash it all, he had hoped to continue his advancement of his wife's schoolin'._ A fleeting look and he was aware of that lady's discomfiture.

"Barnstable, a cushion for Mrs Jasper, if you please."

Shaking out his paper, he sighed, pursed his lips and sought distraction. The Thunderer was not what it was; news of Boney's latest escapade was irritating. Mr. Owen's illuminating essays on reform had him accused of sedition, and it seemed Lord Liverpool was up to his usual tricks. Though, try as he might to keep his mind on serious matters of the day, the delightful wriggle of his wife kept claiming his appreciation.

"I fear I must go to London, my dear. Business requires my attention."

"Will you be gone long?" Rose ventured.

"No, no, a day, perhaps two…Ah, Barnstable has your cushion my dear." He couldn't help thinking of that charmingly agreeable rear presented to him on the previous night. No, he would not be gone long, not if he could help it.

With great care Barnstable placed the silken buffer at Rose's back.

Mr. Jasper found he was unable to avoid the lascivious smirk that quirked his lips. He whispered, somewhat theatrically, "I believe Mrs. Jasper would prefer to sit on it."

Barnstable didn't falter. He retrieved the cushion, pummelled it firmly, and waited.

Rose's blush was fulsome, but a sensible girl, she stood and allowed the padding to be laid beneath her.

Sitting back, with no little relief; the yellow goo before her took on the glow of honeyed ambrosia.

Theobald did not trust himself to look up. "Better?"

"Much."

The happy couple resumed their breakfast.


	3. Chapter 3

Mr Jasper's Undertakings.

His business completed, a sanguine Theobald Jasper took to the road, certain his new wife would be forgiving of his prolonged, if somewhat ill timed, absence. The weather was good; but this was not the boon that might be supposed. Dry roads begat dust, choking both rider and mount. Unyielding ground, hit by iron-shod hooves, cast up chips of stone, stinging and tearing the skin of man and beast.

Theo had considered driving his curricle. Damn it, he'd even considered taking the mail coach, but he rather wanted to return within the week, and if at all possible, in one piece.

A commission, though quite within the capabilities of one of his trusted captains, had fallen to him, at the personal request of the Prime Minister himself. Try as he might, there was no getting out of it. Some soldiering great nephew, of some greater ass of a politician, had gotten himself in a stew with brigands in Corsica. What the devil the idiot was doing there was anyone's guess. Theo suspected some inept double dealing. Nonetheless, he had honourably discharged the contract, bringing the ungrateful lout home, sound as a pound.

Three weeks it had taken to find and extricate the young fool, three weeks and one day…

Now, if the post horse he'd hired could hold out just _a little_ longer, he'd be home, dry, and back to schoolin' his delightful Rosie.

Ah, the benefits of such a wife!

###

Mr. Jasper's insistence that he would be absent only a day at most, had, Rose discovered, proven overly optimistic. After the first week, she had come to the conclusion that his absence might be considerably longer and subsequently she could not rely on his presence to establish her command of the household. The general disorder required resolute action and Rose was determined to take what was available to her, which was indeed very little, to put her new home to order.

The discovery of Grineby's many faults dismayed her. Of the confusion and general mismanagement, it was likely her husband knew as little as she.

Fortunately, Barnstable, Mr. Jasper's 'man' who had come with him from London, was a person of discrimination and diligence. Barnstable could be relied upon.

Agnes, Harriet's newly employed nursemaid, was also proving to be a stalwart of the 'new' Jasper household. There seemed little she could not turn her hand to and all with good grace and vigour.

It was unfortunate that the staff, formerly employed by her late brother-in-law Augustus, were few and far between.

If they could be found at all, that is.

The elderly butler, Mr. Sumpter, as a consequence of a taste for his wife's sloe gin, could not be depended upon for anything useful, being gently inebriated most of the day. _Mrs._ Sumpter, the said wife and supposed housekeeper, was a woman of equally advanced years. Her habit was to lose herself within the bowels of the great house at even a hint that anything be required of her. The maids were two in number and very young, Minnie and Bertha. Minnie, it seemed, was also the cook; a fact that caused Rose some serious concern, and may have accounted for the unpredictable cuisine that made its way to table.

One thing was to become very clear to Rose over the following two weeks. Houses such as the Jasper family pile were ill designed.

Her uncle's house was large, comparatively modern, being but fifty years old. The plumbing was good, accommodations airy and domestic convenience well catered for.

But Grineby Hall was another matter. It had been built to impress the onlooker; not house a family in even a modicum of comfort. Extensive and sweeping grandeur was all very well, but it was not at all practical. It was cold and damp, and nothing was where it was needed. The kitchen was miles from the dour and chilly dining room. Bathing was a logistical nightmare which required the heating of the water in the wash house and then all the servants carrying numerous buckets of hot water up three flights of stairs. The whole affair taking up to an hour and all one actually accomplished was a perfunctory lukewarm dip.

So from these unpromising beginnings, Rose Marie Josephine Jasper, née Brown, set to work marshalling what little resources she had.

Grineby Hall was to be righted.

A good beginning was the sweeping of the many chimneys and the re-stocking of fuel supervised by Barnstable. Rose set herself the task of tracking down the good linens. To that end she left Harriet with Agnes and sought out the linen store.

What the new Mrs. Jasper found inconveniently situated in the dismal basement, was a large dusty room, shelves lining the walls heaped with an assorted jumble of drapery, napery and bed linen. Ancient, heavy bed hangings were piled haphazardly on the floor; years ago taken down, forgotten and moth eaten,

Rose was determined to bring order to this household chaos. Three days were spent sorting good from bad, the serviceable from rags and then relocating the sufficiently respectable sheets and such to a convenient cupboard on each floor.

###

Drinking in the smell of fresh paint and crisply laundered bedding, Rose stepped back and admired the neat, orderly shelves of the small closet on the servants' landing. Here, the staff's requirements may be met with little disruption to their day. The monogrammed linen of Theobald's parents, Cornelius and Leonora, was all of fine workmanship, but the thought of those sheets on her connubial bed left Rose with a distinct feeling of unease. Not unlike her notions about the cupids. Now they were to be made use of by the servants, a worthy housewifely purpose, she felt.

Just one last adjustment on the top shelf, a stack of pillow slips tottered precariously. Hitching her skirts into her apron, Rose stepped onto the bottom shelf and stretched upward, nudging the pile back into neatness.

Hearing the door behind her click shut, she attempted to look over her shoulder, mistook her footing. To prevent a backward tumble, she grasped the upper shelf.

"And what 'ave we got 'ere?" a harsh voice growled as large hands caught at her waist, gripping with solid possession. "Some new 'tween stairs lass is it then?"

"Oh!" a startled Rose exclaimed. Perilous though her position was, Rose was the mistress of the house, no such familiarity could be allowed. "Unhand me, sir, I…"

"_Unhand_ you is it? Oh, I'll _un-hand _you alright, little miss!"

Rose found herself pulled back upon a muscular chest by even more muscular arms. "You mistake me, sir…_I am Mrs Jasper…Lady of the house!"_ She wriggled forcefully against the unsolicited informality.

"Aye and a right nice little bundle you are too, _Mrs. Jasper_, all sweet smellin' and soft…You wouldn't deny a starvin' man a bite or two…"

With that, a warm mouth suckled at her neck. Then, to her alarm, an agile tongue licked a spot that undid her. She groaned, possibly with disappointment at her own feebleness, possibly with pleasure.

"Right enough, lass, you just let old Jazzer have 'is way, you'll not regret it." There was a dark chuckle in the voice, a hint of something.

Rose bit her lip, recognition dawning. The hold confident, the breath redolent of good port and sweet tobacco…

So, Theobald Jasper was back, and wanting to play games to boot? Well, she could give her mischievous spouse a game!

"Sir, my husband is expected at any moment. He will run you through for your insolence!"

"What, 'im, that, prancing miss Molly?" The snigger was low as teeth grazed her ear deliciously. "I'll just butter 'is bun for 'im then, shall I?" The words were crude, but strangely, added to his grinding hips, made her weaken more. A broad hand spanned her belly. Then slipped lower.

Rose was roused by it, surely more than she ought to be? She had never dreamed to play such spirited marital sports. But this was a man of unbounded fancy; her life with him would never be a tale of quiet domesticity.

So, from her position standing on the raised shelf, she squirmed her backside into his belly, eliciting a breathy growl that made her shudder more. "You seem resolute in your intention to ruin me, sir rogue…Ah…pray…no, sir…I am but…weak." His hands had assumed positions of daring stimulation. One thrust into her bodice, roughly caressing her bosom. The other massaged the seat of her pleasure with sweet, malicious vigour. "Yes, oh, my Lord, yes…"

In a trice, Theo had her skirt and petticoats up about her waist and he was about her. Fully aroused by his wife's naughty demeanour, he could wait no longer. _Damn the Prime Minister, damn all politicians, and damn all their nephews! _ With one powerful thrust he was home, deep in the sultry, snug cunny of his own enchanting wife.

She was undone, she could no longer act a part, bending bowlike she could do no more than nip his jaw. She settled for chiding him instead. "Mr. Jasper, you are such a scoundrel. Will you at least kiss me?"

"Lud, but I missed you, my wilful girl," he whispered breathlessly in her ear, reclaiming her body for his own.

"And, my love, I beg you…do not spare me…Ahaaa!" His hands now coaxed more new diversions. She was bemused. How had she gone so swiftly from the reserved, docile, young woman to this wanton harlot? Did even she care?

"Ain't I always an obligin' fellow?" Theo commenced a merciless rhythm, setting her almost onto the shelves, among the neat, efficiently ordered monogrammed sheets.

Rose was painfully aware that the very meat of her was near to bliss. She twisted and writhed upon the wondrously powerful endowment of her husband's.

Could it be that all women were so blessed?

Then, unable to contain it, she loosed the primal howl of a pleasured bitch. Indeed it was a highly unladylike sound, but one that caused her husband to grin and join her. Following it with sharp, lusciously taunting slaps to her creamy full buttocks.

Theo found the arrival at his crux, hard and explosive. A man well-satisfied.

As their breathing slowed, Mr. Jasper assisted his blushing spouse down from her hazardous position. After he brushed down his weskit and she straightened her ruffled skirts, the Jaspers left the confines of the servants' linen closet elegantly, her hand atop his, as if leaving a most enjoyable _soirée._

Mr. Jasper coughed politely and inquired, "I trust I find you well, my dear?"

"Oh, well enough, sir. Well enough."


End file.
